


Batfamily Big Bang

by wintersnight



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batfam Big Bang, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I did the thing!, M/M, aaaaangst, from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 18:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight
Summary: Seven Days of Prompts. Most of them are short, but still ;)You can find me on Tumblr asiphoenixrising





	1. Day 1: Cuddling

Dick’s heart beats harder, heavier, his stomach churning, but he knows if he lets go, if he just  _lets go,_ then Tim is going to turn away from him–

and he might not come back this time.

“Please Timmy,  _please_ ,” and his arms tremble just a little, muscles going  _tight_. 

“I thought I pretty much told you this isn’t  _necessary_.” Red Robin is ramrod straight, arms down at his sides, “I’m still going to be the fucking IT person and get you the intel you ask for.”

“You won’t even stay long enough to say hi to Alfred, Timmy!”

“It’s not my  _place_  to be here, Dick.”

“I thought we had an understanding about that–”

“Oh? Like the one where  _crying is fine_  for Demon, but I’ve just got to get the fuck over it? Honestly, based on the way everything went down, it was pretty obvious you and Dami got to mourn Bruce however you wanted, but I just needed to move the fuck on with my life because  _hey_ , he wasn’t really my dad, right?”

“Timmy! Tim that was never–”

“I have no idea what this is even about. You got the Robin you wanted so why am I still  _standing here_?”

And Dick really has no problem pulling the offended Red Robin closer, nudging Tim’s head under his chin, pushing him against Dick’s collar bone to shut him up, making him  _listen_. 

 “Tim, I  _know_  I made mistakes. I  _know_  I hurt you,” and it’s easy how one hand slides under the cape, rubs soothing circles over his back like when he was a teenage kid and Dick was his big brother, back before things got bad and the world around them started to crumble, when it seemed like they were burying someone else every other day.

“But if there’s one thing that will never  _change_ , it’s going to be that you are part of the family, and no matter what, we’re always going to be here for you. That’s never going to be a question, you always have a  _place_  with us.”

Tim’s muffled call is probably bullshit, but Dick doesn’t even care because somehow he’s got try getting them back on the road to being good again, to being  _family_.

And it’s going to start right here. 


	2. Day 2: Sick

When he starts feeling like a lump of  _sick is ass_ , he knows he has to get out of Gotham as fast as humanly possible.

_Or else_.

Which is why he’s wobbly as hell diving through the window of his Perch ( _Dick heard him cough over comms… Fucking sixth sense_ ) and pretty much throwing pieces of the Red Robin suit all over the place in his mad dash to get to the stairs going down into his personal garage.

Stripping down the body suit constitutes hopping on one foot and he completes a flawless face-plant in the attempt.

Throwing on old jeans and beat-up DCs without socks, a nerd shirt, and a long terrible second of hacking up a  _lung_  are what get him to the stairs and down, down, down into the basement.

The dizzy spell passes on the second set, and he gives himself  _all_  the kudos for not passing out and falling his sick ass down the rest because  _that_  would just be embarrassing. 

_Seriously_.

But the luck of the Kryptonian Deities must be really with him since the keys to his shitty Honda are still in the ignition where he’d left them, and he’s about a slide over the hood of the car away from  _home free_.

Until the hidden door clangs loudly and raises, a solitary headlight painfully blinding, and all he wants is to get the hell out of Gotham, take a few Alka-Seltzer Colds and binge watch something on Netflix until he passes out.

Is that really so much to ask?

By the look on Robin’s face, apparently so.

Less than ten minutes later, Dami’s Ducati is stowed in his garage and Baby Bat is stripped down to the jogging shorts and t-shirt he wears under the tunic, not letting Tim out of his  _sight_. With relative ease, the teenage Robin herds his predecessor in the passenger seat  _of his own car_ , and drives them back to the Manor with the first round of  _why even bother trying to run? Have you never met Grayson before?_

Tim waves a tired hand to encompass things like Bat fuckery and stupid sensors in his suit.

Waiting for them at the front door of the Manor, Dick is tapping his foot impatiently, and descends like a whirling tornado of Big Brother. Of course, Alfred is hovering in the doorway, calm as you please, with Master Jason in the entryway just behind him. Master Bruce is taking warm tea out of the microwave and adding a touch of honey the way Master Tim prefers it.

Soup is lazily warming on the back burner and fresh bread has already made several sandwiches for hungry vigilantes. Yet, there is plenty for  _more_  (honestly, Master Tim).

Alfred’s bag of surprises (reads as: high-dose antibiotics) is sitting open on the sideboard of the large sitting room on the ground floor, thermometer and stethoscope on the stand next to one of the couches. 

It will be an evening of relaxation for the butler’s charges, Master Tim’s illness giving him the perfect opportunity to gather them all in one place and be certain they eat their fill, watch television rather than work themselves into exhaustion, and fall asleep sprawled throughout the room, safe and content.

The butler smirks just slightly as Master Dick reaches in to pick-up Master Tim out of the car and simply carry him inside with Master Damian following closely at his heels. His smirk gets just a bit wider when the inevitable, “Jesus  _Christ_ , Timmy, ya look like  _fuck_ ,” and Master Bruce’s soothing baritone would direct the others in his already established plan.

“Alfred, we’ll need Tim’s vitals.”

“Certainly, Sir,” but the old butler is laughing softly to himself while he lightly closes the door. 


	3. Day 3: FIGHT!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bats have a plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Read at your Own Risk.

Of all the ways he’s imagined going out, this is certainly not one of them.

The muted quality of Nightwing’s voice passes in and out while he’s helpless to do anything more than  _watch_. His body moves smoothly, with finesse he used to have back in the old Robin days, back when he could afford the extra flare, when it was just part of his style being the flashier sidekick to the Dark Knight. The kind of thing he dropped when he lost the tunic and had to change it up a little.

So of course Nightwing and Red Hood would notice something  _off_  from the get-go.

There’d been no time after his tangle with Lonnie Manchin, who was on the bad side of the line, armed with a little something left from the Calculator, a device from the Unternet with more mind control powers than a fucked-up digital world.

As he predicted, it took his vigilante significant others about  _ten seconds_  to realize something was very wrong before patrol even started.

“Hard week with Super Brats, Baby Bird?” Was muted and cottony, nothing to do with the synths, but because of the Bluetooth device he’d mistakenly put in his ear.

“You seem a little off, Red. Want to talk about it before we go stomp bad guys?”

And even though he can’t move a muscle, can only be helpless watching his body move, he still tries to yell, to scream, to do  _something_  when the inevitable, “ _Red Robin. Attack!”_  triggers his muscles to tighten for go time. He lashes out, hits a pressure point in N’s chest and knocks him right over the edge of the roof without a hitch, and turns on Hood next, a well-aimed gut shot, followed with a little elbow to the back, puts his boyfriend on the ground. In the same breath, he’d pulled one of the .45s, and holds it like he intends to use it.

His hand gives an obvious wobble, but a gloved finger is on the trigger.

“Why? Fuck, Red,  _why?_ ” Is the first clear thing he’s heard in the last few hours since he put the damn thing in his ear in Titan’s Tower and made his way to Gotham for whatever plan Lonnie had that needed to hijack his body.

Still, even Jay’s voice isn’t enough to shake him free and some part of him dies inside…

…when he pulls the trigger.

**

He’s heading out of Gotham on a stolen Ducati N probably drove. he’d found it by the side of the Wallstone after Lonnie ordered him to check on the body lying in the alleyway, silent and still. The precursory hit paralyzed his other boyfriend, unable to save himself from the fall.

The real bitch of it is, he can’t even fucking  _cry_.

But he’s hitting the Cave while his chest  _aches_  and his body won’t stop moving because this is far from over.

B is mid-stretch when his leg is thrown over the bike, and his hips roll with the first few strides, warming up for the next move.

_Don’t make me do this. Please, fuck, please Lonnie, don’t make me do this_.

“Drake.”

He screams inside his own head when Dami falls in stride with him, going over some report from the Tower that intersects with a case Young Justice is working.

Dami who is nineteen and so much a mix of Bruce and Talia, sharp jaw and big hands, a smirk for his secret smile–

_No. NO!_

“Tim?”

He pivots the moment they start passing the line of glass cases, old memories, and grips his Robin by the shoulders for a rapid hip throw to put his last boyfriend through two glass cases without body armor.

The splash of blood is only in his warbled periphery because Lonnie knows he needs to get to B  _fast_  enough to still work the element of surprise.

It comes in the form of Hood’s .45 still in his belt, raising while he runs, while he screams, while he can’t look the fuck  _away_.

He can feel the trigger, the recoil, but can’t fit the life of him stop it.

The blood blossoms immediately on Bruce’s chest, his eyes wide and shocked before his knees buckle, and he’s trying to get in his last  _breaths_.

His eyes are so fucking  _blue_  in the fleeting last glance of his mentor, his  _dad_ alive, and Red Robin moves to the Batcomputer’s big screen, and fishes something out of a pocket in his utility belt. Even though his body is physically calm, his heart is racing, copper in the back of his mouth, hacking into the Admin account under Bruce to get unrestricted access. The device is applied by his hands and a download starts.

“The butler is the last one,” is from his own mouth, muted and wrong and  _fuck, we didn’t think of Alfred, did we?_

The question in his head, Lonnie’s distorted voice, is enough to trigger the trap:

“ _We?”_

From out of the shadows, Hood swoops in and knocks the gun out of his hand while N tackles his body from the side. Robin jumps in to pin his legs while B launches himself to the computer and runs the reverse-trace they need to find Lonnie’s systems and blow the whole thing. It’ll give the monitoring Titans some coordinates and a little excuse for  _crime-fighting time_.

The debacle gives him enough control to clench his hands into fists where he’s held down at every limb, and be utterly fucking grateful everyone is just  _that good_  at acting when the situation calls.

Of course, making sure Hood had a side-arm with blanks, N would have an extra grapple attached to his back, Robin’s increased weight would throw him off enough to avoid getting hurt since a well-thrown Bat-a-rang would be the real culprit taking out the glass cases, and B would wear a vest with exploding blood pack to make everything look as authentic as possible, was really good planning on everyone’s parts.

“Titans are on point,” B is saying in his dark Batman voice and a gloved hand is reaching for the Bluetooth device in his ear.

“S’ a hell of a plan, Timmy. Ya did good, Baby,” is more clear and concise. The helmet is already off then.

But he’s shaking like a leaf the second his body is his own again, eyes getting heavy and hot even though it didn’t really happen.  _It didn’t happen_.

He’d known it could get bad once Lonnie had control of him, but they all agreed they could handle it the same way Bats always do–

_With a plan_

Still, bile is rising up in his throat and his heart is at about a thousand beats per minute. His muscles respond sloppily, palms braced on the Cave floor, and his brain is still signalling  _error error error_.

Pieces of his suit are discarded, domino pulled off so his pupils can be checked and someone makes a choked noise because his face is wet under the mask. The bodysuit is just suddenly unzipped and a cold disc on his chest, bare hands in his, another in his hair lightly scraping his scalp. Calls across the Cave while Alfred checks him out and B runs the take-down from the computer. Awareness comes in through the panic, and his grip tightens, eyes move between all of them to assure himself they’re all still alive.

The nails against his scalp register, so the real world is finally coming back, beating out the panic because  _obviously_ , he has things to do on the crime-fighting side of things rather than the  _bad guy killing everyone he loves_  side.

“Hey, starting to come back, Tim?” Dick winks and  _fuck_  he’s beautiful.

“S’all copasetic,” Jay is grinning down at him, left-over fake blood all over his suit. Some kind of noise works itself out of him just at the sight.

“Look at me,” is Dami looming over him, soft green eyes that are so adorably concerned. “Please say something,  _Habibi_.”

And for the men in his life?

“L…Love you…all of you…”

Is about all they need.


	4. Day 4: Vacation

There’s really nothing like the smell of explosions in the evening. 

“Get the motherfuck  _down!”_

Or the feel of hot lead passing overhead.

Just  _so_  relaxing.

“Get him the hell out of here, Big Wing, I gotta handle on these fuck-nuts!”

“Got it!”

And the dashing Nightwing just scoops him up out of nowhere, the vigilante literally appearing with a wide smile and strong arms.

Tim Drake, CEO of Wayne Enterprises can’t help but be impressed and literally swept off his feet.

Still, he holds tightly to the crime fighter’s broad shoulders while his stomach drops and they rise into the night sky.

“What a coincidence to see you in the ‘Haven, Mr. Drake.”

“I’m supposed to be taking a week off! i just wanted out of the city since the Joker is on the loose again.”  

“Oh, he  _did_  kidnap you that one time, didn’t he?” And Nightwing lands it on a dilapidated roof, slowly setting the CEO on his feet. “Then I won’t be offended for the lack of faith.”

It takes a bit of effort to swallow because, you  _know_ , just Nightwing hanging out and all, “I’m shocked you remember. That was long before I took over so Mr. Wayne could pursue his other…ah,  _hobbies_.”

“Sure, hanging out with super models and living the good life. I’d like a hobby like that.” The vigilante peers over the edge of the roof, checking out the fight going on below with Hood and the five thugs they’d originally encountered. Add in a few Molotov Cocktails, and  _damn_  do you have yourself a party. 

Frustrated, the CEO throws his hands up in the air, trying to hide the fact he’s still shaking. “No one gives him credit. He’s really a smart guy, I swear.”

Nightwing doesn’t look up. “You don’t have to make excuses for the most eligible bachelor in Gotham City, Mr. Drake.”

“Okay, fine. Don’t believe me, but the advanced weapons system the military pays  _billions_  for was totally not my idea. I’ll leave it at that.” And being this up close and personal to one of the heroes of his city, Mr. Drake can’t help but let his eyes roll from the heel of Nightwing’s black boots, over the lines of his calves and thighs, gaze lingering on that  _world-famous ass_. 

His face goes red as he makes his way closer to also look over the ledge to the fight going on below.

“Shouldn’t you…I don’t know, help him?”

The white lenses in place of eyes makes a shudder go through the CEO, and Nightwing’s grin becomes  _darker_ , “if I jump back in, he’s probably going to be angry I ruined his fun.”

“That…sounds ominous.”

“Hood has a terrible sense of humor, Mr. Drake.”

Another car explodes, rocking the building, and he finds himself thrown to the roof with Nightwing on top of him, pinning him down.

All the blood in his body is rushing to one of two places, and  _wow_ , it’s  _au naturel_  under that suit.

The vigilante just grins down at him, nestled between his legs, and so much  _more_  than Tim could have ever imagined.

“At least you’ll be able to say you have a heck of a show while you’re on vacation,” the vigilante shrugs cheekily and leaps up off him.

Tim sits up in time to see Nightwing’s boots disappear over the side of the building, and runs back to the ledge to look down again at the ensuing fight. 

Apparently, the night just got interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have no idea where the idea for this came from. All I know is that I couldn't write the usual thing ;)


	5. Day 5: Nightmare

When he breathes in–

his lungs ache because it’s so fucking  _hard_  to get air through dirt.

Fingers are bleeding, a few nails ripped off in the struggle to claw his way through the lid of the coffin, but he can’t just give the fuck up, can’t stay here and die all over again.

His memories are spotty at best, brain sluggish but reading the agony in his arms just fine because he’s been beating against the enclosure from the moment he came to.

When he hits dirt, the reality of the situation hits  _home_. 

And even if he can’t really remember it all, he thinks he should be wearing something different, something with a belt and pouches, something with weapons, but he can’t grasp at it through the panic.

( _Because dirt means he’s buried alive. He’s fucking buried **alive**.)_

**

Usually, after an episode with the Pit, he  _dreams_. 

“Mother _fuck_ ,” he half-assed shouts out of a ruined throat when he wakes up, always before his dream self realizes he’d been screaming for Bruce to save him. 

Used to be, he’d wake up punching the sheets, or clawing them to bits in his struggle to get the fuck out of the ground. 

Anymore, he gets covered allll kinds of over.

“Jesus fuck, ‘m  _fine_ ,” but Jay’s voice is muffled, blankets thrown all over. 

“Don’t believe you,” Timmy mumbles from between his legs, arms around his waist, face pillowed on Jay’s stomach. His eyes flutter and he gets heavier again.

“You need cuddles,” is interrupted by Dickie’s yawn, but his weight doesn’t move, crushing Jay’s chest, and pretty much flopping diagonally over him. 

“I need to breathe, Big Wing.”

“Lies.”

“Fuck it. Go back to sleep, ass head.”

“Mmhm, that’s what I thought.”

“Fuck you.”

“After a few more hours. Night, sweetheart.”

And he can let his eyes close with their weight, with soft breath, and hands gripping his pj pants over the thighs and others on his bicep, gripping and grounding. He can breathe out, can settle back–

–and sleep.


	6. Day 6: Best Rescue

Adrenaline crashes into the kid–

–the second he puts on  _the mask_.

The tunic laces up fast, and he wiggles into the armored bottoms. Pixie boots are a little too big, but it would just have to do.

He doesn’t have time to figure out what’s in the pockets of the belt, not when Batman and Nightwing are all tied up with Two-Face laughing like a maniac and going over some long-winded bad guy monologue.

Young Tim Drake can’t stop to think about what he’s really about to do. He needs to keep moving, make the next step, put on the cape, and ease one of the top windows open to sneak inside. 

The explosion for Batman and Nightwing trapped them under rubble, and he has no idea if they’re even  _alive_  or if Two-Face is just  _that crazy_.

“…You see? Follow procedure and it all works out. It’s almost two am,  _now_  they can die.”

His chest locks up, impossible to get a breath when he leaps, the cape flapping behind him, the world spinning so fast when he comes on the terrifying man with a crowbar and a messed up coin.

He gets a brick to the face, lip splitting on contact, getting more red on the tunic, dodges out of the way of the next strike. 

The crowbar shatters the brick he’s holding to defend himself, and Two-Face is looking murderous, putting every ounce of strength into the next swing.

And as much as he wants to run, to get the heck  _out_ of there, go home where no one was waiting and the silence crawls down his spine to settle at the base, as much as he wants to just be a twelve-year old kid, and hide from the bad guys–

–he  _can’t_. 

Batman needs Robin, and if the original won’t do the job, then someone else  _has to_.

He manages to plant the tracker before Two-Face takes off, and yells for Batman and Nightwing alongside Alfred while they dig through debris and busted roof supports.

When he catches Dick under the arms and spots the Batman’s limp hand, when they’re both still alive if not  _severely_  pissed at him, he’s still going to call this the  _best night ever_  and be glad he could be their Robin this one time, to ride to the rescue.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! The first time Tim Drake ever put on a Robin tunic was in A Lonely Place of Dying and it wasn't because _he_ was Robin, but that B and N needed saved. Yes, yes, Alfred was there too :D


	7. Day 7: Choose your own tropes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for this I did two. Don't ask me why, lol. Dr!Tim and _boyfriend wearing my clothes is hot_ trope and ah, well... Some people on Tumblr have asked about a reverse AOB with Tim as an Alpha, so I thought a bit about it and there you go.

_Dr!Tim_   _Kink_

“Don’t. Move.”

Dr. Drake freezes, still balanced on his toes, reaching for the cereal on the third shelf, muscles going tight with the possible  _what-ifs._

“Timmy…are ya wearing m’ shirt?”

_Fuck. Busted_. 

“Those are my boxers, aren’t they?”

Now he swallows because his vigilante boyfriends are back from their out-of-town crime fighting time.

And he’s been caught being utterly pathetic and wearing their clothes when they’re away because he  _misses_  them and  _worries_  and shit. 

_Lame, Tim. Lame._

Since he already  _knows_ , Tim slowly closes the cabinet with his prize and faces his wonderful significant others with a sheepish grin.

“Hi honeys, did you have a good time stomping bad guys?”

And they move like silent shadows, surrounding him in their warmth, in their scent, pressing up against him  _tight_. Gloved hands are hefting him by the back of the thighs, holding him hostage.

“Know what it does ta us, Sweets,” Jay breathes against his jugular.

“Wear my clothes whenever you  _want_ ,” Dick finishes on the other side. “Just be ready for the consequences, Tim.” 

And it’s much later that he can properly tell them he’s happy they’re home.

**

_Reverse AOB_

When it’s B on the line, calling him at the Tower, Red Robin knows something is going  _down_. 

He comes to Gotham when there’s no one else to call, when the tech is too advanced even for Batman.

(It’s… _wrong._ So wrong, but he’s accepted it. He’s a bad Alpha, so is it really any wonder they wanted him  _gone_?)

“This is unexpected,” is the first thing out of his mouth, “what does the JLA need?”

“This has nothing to do with the JLA,” is Batman’s immediate response, “I need to talk to my son, Tim right now, not Red Robin.”

Everything in him  _freezes_. 

“I know,” B continues, “things have been…awkward over the last year. I missed out on some of it when I was lost in time, but once Dick and Jay are out of danger, we’re going to have a  _talk_ –”

His heart pounds dully, copper in the back of his mouth, “why are you calling me instead of Clark?”

“Because they need their Pack Alpha, Tim. They need someone strong enough to keep them from Heat Mania.”

“I…I’m sorry  _what now?”_ Because panic hits his chest and Red Robin is on his feet in the Tower’s control room, already typing out a message to Kon that he needs immediate evac. 

He has no idea why he reacted like that without thinking.

_Stupid instincts_.

“We have no idea what was in Pam’s little love potion, but both of them are in the panic room on hormone-withdraw and early on-set Heat. Alfred and I are the only ones that can go near them. If Damian gets close, it could trigger him to present–”

“I get the picture. The question is why you’re calling me instead of someone they trust. If you want to send the samples for me to analyze, then I get that. Of course–”

“Don’t misunderstand. I need you  _here_  to see them through their Heat and balance out their hormones so they don’t go into cardiac arrest. When can you be here?”

Behind the whiteouts, his eyes  _dilate._

In the past year, he’d been taking care of the Titans, being a good leader, a good Alpha, a good friend. He hadn’t seen an Omega through a Heat since he and Zoanne–

(And  _fuck_  does he  _want_.)

“I… _Bruce–!”_

“I know,” the Beta’s tone gentles, lightens back to human, “I know, but it’s time to come back to the Pack, Tim. Haven’t you been away long enough?”

His chest hitches at that, the question hits him hard enough that he turns on his heel and takes off. Up to the roof, to wait on Kon, make sure his bestie know this is a  _911_. 

Of course, the super is just about right on time, a literal breath after Red hit the roof of the Tower, barely stopping the momentum. Red gives his bestie the short and sweet low-down, making sure Kon swears to keep it a secret. 

Alfred is waiting for them at the front door of the Manor, B in the hall waiting to give him some bullshit reassurances while he strips his gloves and gauntlets, dom and wingpack. He doesn’t need the utility belt or harness.  

“–we’re going to talk after this, Tim. We have too much to catch-up on for you to just–”

Halfway up the grand staircase, in the bodysuit and boots, Tim pauses, doesn’t bother to turn around.

“I’m going to see them through this, that’s why I’m here, Bruce. Don’t read into it more than that.”

Leaving B stand there with a neutral expression, Red continues on his way, trying to prepare himself for the next few days.

This time, he’s going to be a good Alpha and take care of his Pack.


End file.
